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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24305779">i love you like the sun came out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish'>lazyfish</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:55:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,355</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24305779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance Hunter returns to the sleepy town of Stratton with the hopes of reclaiming his rightful title as the Earl of Kent and the heart of the girl he’s been in love with since he was sixteen. Instead he discovers the current earl is even more ruthless than his murderous father. To make his worries worse, without a title he has no hope of courting his childhood sweetheart, Bobbi. Hunter wants nothing more than to be worthy of his father’s legacy and Bobbi’s love, but his greatest fear is losing both to the hands of his greedy cousin and an unkind world.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Five years could change many things, but nothing could ever change the beauty of the sunrise over Stratton. Hunter had expected a grayer dawn - he had ridden all through the overcast night - but the golden glow of the sun at long-last was welcome. </p><p>The town was awake enough for him to catch odd glances as he rode through the cobbled streets. Murmurs followed him like shadows, but he ignored them. The last time he’d visited Stratton he’d been sixteen and angry and searching for purpose. Now he was a freshly-turned twenty-one, and he was searching for Grant Ward. Still angry, though. Hunter wasn’t sure he’d ever grow out of it.</p><p>For all their suspicion, the townspeople were surprisingly helpful in giving directions. They were obviously curious as to what business he would have with the Earl of Kent, looking like he did, but no one asked. It was good they didn’t, because Hunter would’ve had to lie to them. The papers carefully tucked in his document case were of a sensitive nature, and he had spent too long waiting for this moment for it to be snatched from him by loose lips.</p><p>The ride to Hartbrandt was not altogether awful, but by the time he met the doorman Hunter’s thighs had long-since gone numb, and it was an effort to keep his gait anything resembling stately as he was lead from the foyer to the sitting room, where he was told the earl would soon meet him.</p><p>The doorman stood vigil at the door, and Hunter would’ve been insulted if not for the knowledge he would’ve indeed tried to explore the estate if he hadn’t a minder. </p><p>Ward, for his part, was prompt despite the early (and, Hunter would admit, impolite) hour of the visit. Hunter’s eyes narrowed when the other man stepped into the room, and he studied Ward curiously, searching for family resemblance. He found none. Ward’s jaw was squarer than his, his eyes and hair darker, and the kindness Hunter liked to imagine in his own countenance was chillingly absent.</p><p>“My Lord Kent.” Hunter stood and bowed. “A pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”</p><p>“And yours.” Ward didn’t look like he had ever been pleased in his life, let alone at that moment, and Hunter’s hopes this meeting would go well began to slip.</p><p>“If I may explain my reason for calling?” he asked. He had always hated waiting for anything, let alone permission, but it was important he not muck this up.</p><p>“You may.” The earl inclined his chin forward, eyes glinting dangerously. Another difference to mark between them - Ward was all predator, like a wolf on the moors waiting for his prey to show weakness.</p><p>Hunter reached for his document case, then hesitated. “I have reason to believe we are related.”</p><p>That caught Ward’s attention. “How?” he demanded.</p><p>“My father’s name was Victor,” Hunter said slowly, “and yours was Matthew.”</p><p>The muscle in Ward’s jaw ticed when he clenched it. “You’re a bastard, then.”</p><p>“I’m not.” The word <em>bastard</em> was enough to send a fresh wave anger crawling up as throat, as bitter as bile and twice as hot. </p><p>“My Uncle Victor died when he was a young man. He didn’t marry.” Ward waved his hand dismissively. “And I’m sure he didn’t have any children, or I’d have heard about it.”</p><p><em>You mean he was killed when he was a young man, </em>Hunter wanted to snap. <em>And this is you hearing about his child.</em> Instead he forced a smile onto his face and reached for the document case again, this time flipping it open with a flourish of his wrist.</p><p>“A wedding certificate,” Hunter said, presenting the paper to his cousin.</p><p>Ward took it, narrowing his eyes at the slanting handwriting. “A forgery.”</p><p>“The written testimony of the pastor who performed the marriage, notarized.” Hunter produced the next piece of paper, which Ward wasn’t so quick to dismiss. Tracking down the pastor who had performed the marriage had taken him longer than Hunter would like to admit, but the amount of pause it gave the earl was worth every gruelling minute of riding from church to church and town to town searching for it. </p><p>His business looking for the pastor had been what first brought him to Stratton when he was a teenager; the man, Nicholas Fury, had been an old friend of one of Stratton’s foremost inhabitants, Phil Coulson. He had spent three months in Stratton, most of which was occupied with interviewing Mr Coulson and trying to determine where Fury might’ve gotten off to. The rest of it was occupied by -</p><p>No, best not to think of her until he was done with business.</p><p>“A cleverer forgery, but still faked,” Ward said.</p><p>Hunter snatched the papers back before the other man could get it in his head to do something like burn them, placing them into the document case as carefully as he could while still distracted by a formless rage.</p><p>He shouldn’t have expected better from the son of a murderer.</p><p>“What would convince you?” Hunter asked. He hadn’t spent the entirety of his teenage years collecting evidence for it all to be dismissed out of hand.</p><p>“Nothing,” Ward said coldly. “This is my title, and if you intend to take it, you should come up with a better story than being the child of my poor, perished uncle.”</p><p>Hunter squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fist, ignoring how every part of him was begging just to punch his cousin in his smug face. Ward had more money than him, more power than him, and more connections than him. If he wanted to end up in any place other than the jail, he needed to have some restraint.</p><p>“You certainly have a lot of poor, perished uncles, don’t you?” he asked, cooling his voice to match Ward’s. He couldn’t quite manage the frostiness his cousin did, but Hunter came admirably close for someone who had a heart and a conscience - something Ward couldn’t pretend to have, just as his father hadn’t.</p><p>“I don’t know what you mean,” Ward growled.</p><p>And maybe he didn’t, but from his testiness and outright refusal to even consider Hunter’s claim, Hunter was becoming convinced of the contrary. </p><p>“Yes, you do.” Hunter’s father had been killed, ostensibly by highwaymen, on his way to inform his parents of his marriage to Hunter’s mother. His belongings hadn’t been taken, though, or even rifled through. The only reported absence was his family ring.</p><p>The family ring currently tucked into the inside pocket of Hunter’s waistcoat - not stolen, but left with his wife in case she had needed to prove their relationship. His mother had kept it, treasured it, until falling ill the year previous. Some said she was heartsick, thought Hunter had never wanted to consider that in detail. The ring, and the small sum she had from her own family’s fortune, were passed down to Hunter.</p><p>He wasn’t a bastard - he was an orphan.</p><p>“I’ll ask you kindly to leave now.” Funny, how Ward saying he was asking kindly did nothing to actually make the ejection kinder. </p><p>Hunter didn’t protest as the other man showed him to the door, though he did pause when he saw a young woman on the stairs, looking at him curiously. She had a cascade of dark hair and wide brown eyes, and was altogether too beautiful to be with a man as greasy and gitsome as Ward.</p><p>“Your wife?” he asked.</p><p>“Shut up,” Ward snapped. He didn’t lay a hand on Hunter, but he looked like he was about to - all the more reason to escape. Hunter didn’t doubt he could beat Ward in a fight, but it would hardly benefit him to assault a high-standing member of the ton before he so much as got his foot in the door.</p><p>When Hunter left Hartbrandt, he had some solace in the knowledge he had yet to exhaust every line of inquiry he had available to him. He wasn’t going to rest until he had the title which was rightfully his, and his father’s legacy was once again secure.</p><p>---</p><p>“Miss Coulson!” </p><p>Bobbi turned at the sound of her name, shoulders releasing when she saw it was just the parson’s wife, Mrs Mackenzie, who was calling for her. Elena Mackenzie rarely brought bad news or dull conversation; she was achingly alive in the way many people in Stratton seemed to have forgotten how to be long ago. How she managed to be so bright-eyed after a long sermon in the summer heat, Bobbi couldn’t begin to imagine. Perhaps listening to your husband talk was more interesting than listening to a friend do the same.</p><p>“Mrs Mackenzie,” she greeted, stepping away from her sisters and their bickering so she could hear what Elena had to say.</p><p>“There’s a man who wishes to meet your acquaintance.”</p><p>“Pardon?” It had been several months since Bobbi had last been asked after. Now that Daisy was out, it was generally assumed Bobbi was on the shelf. She didn’t fight the assumption - she had no reason to. </p><p>“You heard what I said.” Elena flashed a smile. “His name is Mr Hunter. Now, may I introduce you?”</p><p>“Yes.” Bobbi’s tongue thickened in her mouth, and she found it hard to breathe around the sudden tightness in her throat. She felt faint, and for once it had nothing to do with the stifling heat in the church.</p><p>When Elena returned, a man was at her elbow. He was taller and broader in the shoulders than Bobbi remembered, but when he stepped close enough for Bobbi to see his face the hazel eyes peering back at her were warm and familiar.</p><p>She barely registered the formal introductions Elena made, the thundering of blood in her ears too loud to ignore. The other woman stepped away, satisfied that being in the chapel of the church would keep them proprietary, and Bobbi was left (relatively) alone with a man she had last seen when she had just come out. It seemed like so long ago, but at the same time, just the blink of an eye away.</p><p>“Generally, you only ask to be introduced to a lady once,” she reprimanded softly, unable to make herself look at Hunter’s face for fear of her heart giving out.</p><p>“So you remember me?” What an idiotic question. He wasn’t exactly forgettable, and even if she had wanted to rid herself of the memories of the handsome young man who had stolen her heart, Bobbi would’ve chosen to keep them. Those memories were the reason she had spent the last five years without a hope at making herself a respectable match; every man she met seemed a poor imitation of Lance Hunter - his wit, his charm, his ability to understand everything she said without explanation.</p><p>“I don’t often forget promises.” Once or twice she had considered making a match for convenience, if not love - her father’s health was not what it once had been, and more than once Bobbi had resented the burden her perpetual singleness put on him - but she had said she would wait for him, so wait she did. </p><p>“Luckily for us, neither do I.” </p><p>Bobbi’s head whipped up, and she found herself quite caught in the intensity of Hunter’s stare. He’d been the same way when they were younger, able to capture anyone and anything with a look. There was no dissembling in his gaze, nothing but honesty and earnesty, as if they were sixteen again and had nothing to lose.</p><p>“You mean to stay in Stratton?”</p><p>“Aye.” He cleared his throat, and for a moment Bobbi glimpsed the awkward teenager he had been, gangly and uncertain of his place in the world. “I hope I may impose upon you to wait for me a little longer?”</p><p>“It is not an imposition,” she whispered, turning her eyes down again as she tried to marshall her thoughts. “Will you call?”</p><p>“If you’ll have me.”</p><p>“I do not mean to punish you for taking longer than we both imagined you would,” Bobbi said. There was no reason to deny Hunter the right to call on her, other than pettiness, and that would punish her just as much as him. “We were just -”</p><p>“Children?” he guessed. “Perhaps. But I’ve thought of you often over the years, and many of those thoughts were not so childish.”</p><p>Bobbi looked up just to see the wickedness of his grin, her cheeks flushing pleasantly. “I simply meant if you did not intend to keep your word, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”</p><p>“I think we have established I very much mean to keep my word, what little it’s worth.” His smirk faded into something much sadder, and Bobbi’s heart squirmed in her chest. The years had added lines to the corners of his eyes, and they weren’t from laughter. Even when they were younger Hunter had seemed to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders, and perhaps that was why it was so easy for Bobbi to reconcile the man before her with the boy he had been. Both versions of him were… tired.</p><p>She wondered if he was doing the same thing, cataloging the ways she had changed. Bobbi had certainly noticed the changes in her body since they’d last seen each other, and more than once her traitorous thoughts had considered if he would like the changes.</p><p>“First I intend to make myself worthy of you,” Hunter declared. </p><p>“Worthy of me,” Bobbi repeated dubiously. Many would think <em>she</em> had to make himself worthy of <em>him</em>, and not the other way around; she was practically a spinster and he was just beginning his bachelorhood, with at least a decade before his singleness became noteworthy. Even if their statuses were different, the town’s gossips would declare it a miracle anyone had decided to marry Bobbi at all.</p><p>“You deserve a good life -” there was the earnesty again, the kind she couldn’t quite disbelieve “- and I cannot promise you one. Not now.”</p><p>Bobbi’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>“You will soon,” Hunter said. Bobbi waited for him to offer something further, but he just kept looking at her with his damnable eyes and reminding her of all the reasons she had been happy to wait for a man who might not have come back.</p><p>“How soon?”</p><p>“<em>Soon</em>,” Hunter repeated. He chuckled softly. “Only just returned and you’re eager to run to the altar?”</p><p>“No!” The blush returned to Bobbi’s cheeks for an entirely different reason. “I just… I would like to know you again.” When they were younger it had seemed he was the only person who understood her - who knew her aspirations in life were not limited to being a wife and a mother. Bobbi had no disdain for the women who chose that as their path, but she couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life indoors, without seeing the world. It was a big world, so she was told, and while a great measure of it was apparently evil, she was certain there was goodness still to be found. Hunter had promised her the world, or at least as much of it as a young man could promise a young woman.</p><p>“Bobbi!” She looked over her shoulder to find Daisy beckoning her from the entrance of the chapel.</p><p>“I have to go,” she said apologetically. Her family members were not well-known for their patience. Neither was she, of course, but Hunter knew that quite well already.</p><p>“We’ll see each other again soon,” Hunter promised. </p><p>Bobbi believed him.</p><p>They bid each other farewell and Bobbi rushed to meet her sister before Daisy got it in her head to have the carriage leave without Bobbi.</p><p>“Is that who I think it was?” Daisy asked as they made their way slowly to the carriage. Their parents and younger sister were all waiting, and this was a conversation best had in private.</p><p>“It depends who you think it is.”</p><p>“He’s rather handsome, now that he’s not so scrawny,” Daisy said, ignoring the fact Bobbi had spoken at all.</p><p>“Daisy!” It wouldn’t be proper to agree with her sister, and even less proper for Bobbi to admit she had found Hunter handsome even when he was more leg than anything. She had found him enchanting from the moment she laid eyes on him, but it was only after the time they spent together Bobbi had begun to consider she might’ve even <em>loved</em> Lance Hunter - another tidbit she wasn’t eager to share.</p><p>“I’m kidding. Mostly.” Daisy grinned. “If I’m honest, I wasn’t sure he was going to return.”</p><p>“Neither was I,” Bobbi admitted. They reached the door of the carriage, and Daisy knew not to speak of it further with their parents in attendance.</p><p>The conversation had given her quite a lot to think about it on the ride home, though. She and her sister had both been wrong. Hunter had come back to Stratton - and it seemed, come back for <em>her</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bobbi strolled through town at a more languid pace than she was accustomed to, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. She didn’t expect to see Hunter here, but she couldn’t squash the stubborn hope that had been fluttering in her chest since seeing him at church three days previous.</p><p>Her chaperone, Mrs Maria Hill, knew nothing of her search, and instead urged Bobbi to move more quickly towards the fabric shop. She was eager to return home before noon hit and the sun became sweltering, and normally Bobbi would be of the same mind, but… she looked across the street one more time, and still there was no man looking back at her.</p><p>When they made their way into the shop, Mrs Hill immediately began to search through the display of embroidery floss, while Bobbi was sent to find a suitable fabric. She was beginning a gift for Jemma’s coming out next year; to many it would seem silly to start so far in advance, but anyone who knew Bobbi knew she was abysmal with crafts, especially needlework. She had a healthy respect for needles, a respect which some might call fear. That, combined with the intricacy of the gift she was hoping to create, meant it was better for her to start sooner rather than later.</p><p>The store had a selection of fine muslin which would be perfect for the embroidery Bobbi was hoping to complete, and she made a note of it for when she was finished browsing. She had also been tasked with finding some yarn for Daisy, who was partial to knitting. It wasn’t a fashionable pastime, but the Coulson sisters, despite their reading, had never been quite as fashionable as some had hoped. </p><p>Daisy had asked for wool yarn, thick and good for making warm clothing. Privately, Bobbi thought Daisy’s penchant for knitting was a contingency plan, in case she wasn’t able to find a husband. Being able to make clothing of her own to keep out the winter’s chill was a valuable skill to have if she one day found herself destitute, which Bobbi did not particularly want to think about. She wanted to think about it even less knowing it was her own lack of partner that made her sister worry for her future, but that was a discussion for a different day.</p><p>Bobbi made a circuit around the store, and frowned. She must have missed the wool yarn. She made another loop, more slowly, but no - there wasn’t a single skein of wool to be found. </p><p>“Mr Talbot,” she said, making her way to where the shopkeeper was standing at attention in the corner.</p><p>“Yes, Miss Coulson?” he asked.</p><p>She informed him of her plight, and Talbot’s heavy brow furrowed. “We haven’t had a new shipment of wool in several months, Miss Coulson. Mr Gonzales reports the same.”</p><p>Several <em>months</em>? Bobbi copied the wrinkle in Talbot’s forehead. It was all well and good she wasn’t able to pick up the yarn at the moment - it was for Daisy’s fancy, not general need - but there were people who relied on the products sold at Talbot’s and the fabric store in the next town over, Gonzales’s, for their clothing of all types. Not having wool now didn’t seem too large a worry, but when winter came and old clothing became rags, not having replacements would be dire indeed.</p><p>Bobbi thanked Mr Talbot for his time and had him cut her a length of the muslin she had wanted. He noted down the amount her father owed him for the cloth and the embroidery floss Mrs Hill had chosen, and bid Bobbi a gruff farewell (as was his norm).</p><p>“Mrs Hill,” Bobbi said, once again searching through the crowd for a glimpse of brunette hair, “have you heard of any illness of sheep occurring out in the countryside?”</p><p>“I cannot say I have,” Mrs Hill replied, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Just something Mr Talbot told me,” Bobbi answered breezily. Still no Hunter on the streets, at least as far as she could see. “He said there’s been no new shipments of wool products for many a month, to here or Vertshire. Doesn’t that seem peculiar to you?”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Mrs Hill said. “Or perhaps Mr Talbot has another reason for not stocking wool which he isn’t inclined to share with you.”</p><p>Bobbi quirked an eyebrow. Mrs Hill and her father shared a suspicious nature - one of the reasons they were friends and the woman had become Bobbi’s chaperone upon Bobbi’s coming out - but it was sometimes rather far-fetched to believe what they did, even if Bobbi was more critical than most.</p><p>“I’d sooner believe there is no wool left on the earth than believe Mr Talbot is capable of lying with any sort of grace,” Bobbi declared. He was a straightforward man, exceedingly obsessed with decorum and his own image - he wouldn’t be able to lie even if his life depended on it.</p><p>“Yes, that is probably true,” Mrs Hill agreed. She once again urged Bobbi to move faster, but she was concerned, once again, with the crowd. It was not that she had spotted Mr Hunter - she would’ve been far more stubborn in her slowness if she had - but rather, a man she didn’t recognize, who seemed to be staring directly at her.</p><p>Bobbi blinked, and the man disappeared, just another shape in the slowly-growing crush of people heading to town for one reason or another. Bobbi decided she had probably imagined him; she had always had fanciful dreams of someday being a spy and getting caught up in all manner of adventures, but the wool’s absence was likely coincidence and nothing more. </p><p>But if it wasn’t… </p><p>“Where else would the wool be going?” Bobbi asked. Napoleon had surrendered at Waterloo nearly four years ago now, his exile to Saint Helena long since established. If they had been in the midst of the wars as they were when Bobbi had just come out, she would understand the scarcity - the troops, after all, were keeping the country safe from the French - but that was not the case.</p><p>“The same place it’s always gone,” Mrs Hill answered, “France.”</p><p>Bobbi stopped in her tracks. “France?” she repeated.</p><p>“Remind me to chastise your father later,” Mrs Hill murmured, urging Bobbi to begin walking again. “You girls need to have a better understanding of economics, including the illegal bits.”</p><p>Bobbi bit her tongue. Her father was overprotective at the best of times, and suggesting there was illegal activity beyond petty theft happening in Stratton, of all places, would do nothing but incense him. Still, her curiosity over what Mrs Hill was suggesting - wool being illegally smuggled to France - was greater than her fear of her father’s anger.</p><p>“It’s a lucrative business. People with lesser morals than your father would do nearly anything for money, including breaking the law.”</p><p>“But why wool?” Bobbi asked. Surely France had sheep?</p><p>“Why anything?” Mrs Hill returned with a shrug. “If people are willing to pay, it doesn’t matter <em>why</em>.”</p><p>Bobbi couldn’t argue with that. “Who could even organize such a thing?”</p><p>Mrs Hill gave her a withering glare. “You know who all has power, Miss Coulson. Take your pick.”</p><p>The gentlemen who enjoyed even higher status than her father, the nobility… and especially the Earl of Kent, whose control over the area was all but absolute. Any one of them could be the culprit.</p><p>She and Mrs Hill finally reached the edge of town, and began heading towards the Coulson estate. Her embroidery project wasn’t going to be nearly as interesting as anything she had just learned.</p><p>---</p><p>Hunter could not complain about his room in the inn. It had a tiny window through which light could come, and a plethora of candles he could burn as he pleased if the sunlight wasn’t enough to see by. Since his exile from Hartbrandt he had spent most of his time in his room, reviewing the documents in his case again and again, searching for any sign of falsehood. He did not count himself an easily shaken person, but Hunter couldn’t help but wonder if Ward was right, and he had no claim to the estate.</p><p>If his mother was still alive, she would’ve assured him he was everything he said he was; the son of a slaughtered father, a gentleman whose circumstances forced him into hiding. </p><p>He wished for her presence now more than ever, wished she could have seen him return to his childhood home with triumph. Providence was not always kind, though, and Hunter would just have to be safe in the knowledge she was looking down on him from Heaven, waiting for him to take up the mantle she knew he was born for.</p><p>His father would be there too, Hunter supposed, though he didn’t have the same fond memories of the man, having never met him. He was not reclaiming the title to make his parents proud, though - or at least, it was not his sole reason.</p><p>Seeing Bobbi again had rattled him more than he would like to admit. She had grown taller when he had, even going as far as to surpass him in height. Her eyes were still startling blue, her hair the color of the sunlight he had so admired when returning to Stratton for the first time. She was everything he had held onto in his years away, and more he had yet to discover. He didn’t know yet if they would have the same easy rapport they did when they were young; the time they’d had at the church was too short to tell, both of them too shocked by the reunion to do more than reassert old promises.</p><p>But if those promises were made good on, and they were to be married… Hunter wanted more than tattered clothing and what remained of the sum passed down from his mother’s side of the family. Bobbi deserved a world of laughter and ease and plenty. If he could not give it to her, they were better not being married at all.</p><p>That somber thought pulled him out of his writing chair, and he began pacing the room before he could help himself. His thoughts refused to unclutter themselves and he <em>loathed</em> it. </p><p>A knock startled him to attention, and Hunter returned the papers to their case before opening the door. The proprietor of the inn, Mr Calderon, stood there looking rather harried. “A lady has come to call on you.”</p><p>Hunter nodded, not allowing his confusion to show on his face. Bobbi would not come for him - she didn’t even know where he was staying. That left -</p><p>His pace quickened as he followed Mr Calderon down the stairs, and his cheeks ached with the smile that broke it open when he saw who was waiting for him in the small foyer of the inn.</p><p>“Mrs Hartley!” he greeted boisterously, reaching to clasp the woman’s hand. “I was not expecting you until next week!”</p><p>“I changed my arrangements to get here with as much haste as I could,” Mrs Hartley said, returning his smile with one of her own. Mrs Hartley had a kind face and kind eyes - or perhaps it was Hunter’s own experience with the woman which made her seem exceedingly charitable. He had first crossed paths with the woman while his mother still lived, but since his mother’s passing Hunter had come to rely more on Isabelle Hartley’s careful wisdom and tough love. They were an odd pair, a confirmed spinster and a bachelor seeking to reclaim his family’s fortune, but Hunter didn’t care about the oddness on account of the security the relationship brought him. It also happened that Izzy was one of the two who bore witness to his parents’ wedding ceremony, giving her special importance in the proceedings in Stratton.</p><p>“Thank you.” He bowed his head and squeezed her hand, for a moment capturing the feeling of groundedness he had lost the moment Ward had asked him to leave Hartbrandt. </p><p>“I assume if you’re still here, things didn’t go as we hoped?”</p><p>Hunter shook his head forlornly. “Shall we walk?” He didn’t know where Mr Calderon had disappeared to, and he had no knowledge of the man’s relationship with Ward - if the earl had informants, Hunter didn’t want them listening in on his conversation with Izzy.</p><p>The older woman nodded, and together they stepped out of the inn and onto the streets of Stratton.</p><p>It was a quaint town despite its size erring towards large, and Hunter’s fondness for the cobbled streets had grown faster than he expected. He kept imagining having a life in this place, a dangerous thing indeed when he wasn’t yet sure it was possible.</p><p>“So your conversation with Ward wasn’t productive.”</p><p>“He told me I shouldn’t be pretending to be the heir of his poor uncle, dead before his time.” Sarcasm dripped off Hunter’s tongue, and Izzy smirked at him.</p><p>“You think he knows of the plot?”</p><p>“I can’t see how he couldn’t. Either that or he’s ill-spirited and power-hungry.”</p><p>“Both are possible, considering who sired him.”</p><p>Hunter nodded his agreement. He assumed his now-dead murderous uncle had created some contingency plans in case something like this situation came to pass, but after so long without any claimants he and his son had probably assumed they were free to do as they pleased. </p><p>“Did you show him the ring?” Izzy asked as they turned down a less-crowded side street.</p><p>“No. I was hoping perhaps if you came forward as a witness to the wedding he would rethink his strategy of denial.”</p><p>“He’ll say you bribed me,” Izzy warned. “And then go looking to find anything that might discredit me.”</p><p>“I’m sure Mrs Hand is quite capable of choosing what they’ll be able to discover and what they won’t,” Hunter said, waving a lazy hand. Ward was slimy, yes, but Hunter didn’t get the impression was particularly good at anything he did. Izzy’s companion, on the contrary, was quite adept at making people see whatever they wished to see. What they wished to see was a governess, unremarkable save for her stubbornness - not the quick-witted, silver-tongued woman beneath.</p><p>“Yes, I should think so.”</p><p>“But?” Hunter prompted, sensing Izzy’s hesitation.</p><p>“His father was a murderer, Hunter. Who’s to say he’s not one too?”</p><p>Of course he had considered the question for himself; he didn’t believe Ward would forfeit the title without a fight, and it would be startlingly easy to make Hunter, a man of little renown and no family, disappear. It was difficult to fight a foe without honor - every measure Hunter could take to protect himself would be for nothing if Ward paid someone to slit his throat in the middle of the night.</p><p>“What do you suggest I do?” Hunter couldn’t give up just for fear of his own life; it wasn’t worth much at the moment anyways.</p><p>“Stay in Vertshire. Or anywhere beyond his reach.”</p><p>“No.” Hunter wanted to be in Stratton. He <em>needed</em> to be in Stratton. There was no guarantee the next town over would be out of Ward’s grasp, or even the one beyond that. “Retreating will lend credence to his argument that I'm a fraud.”</p><p>“He can twist anything to make you seem false,” Izzy sighed, “and you can’t prove anything if you’re dead.”</p><p>“He doesn’t know I have the ring yet,” Hunter said. “I think until he has no further doubts about my identity, I’ll be allowed to live.”</p><p>Izzy sighed again, more heavily. “So you’re hoping he’ll keep you alive until it’s too late, and he has no power with which to stop you.”</p><p>“That sums it up nicely, yes.” It wasn’t the most fantastic of plans, but Hunter did not need a fantastic plan - only a doable one. At the moment, virtually friendless and with dwindling funds, the two were mutually exclusive.</p><p>“I’m concerned with the willingness with which you gamble your own life.”</p><p>“I don’t think you understand how little I have to lose, and how much I have to gain.” Hunter was hoping his position in the world, with nowhere to go but upwards, would eventually be the key to his victory. Ward had much he feared, and much he could lose. Even one wrong step would be enough for Hunter to exploit, perhaps even enough to lead to Ward’s downfall.</p><p>“I do,” Izzy said softly. “Your mother would not want to see you so desperate.”</p><p>“I fear I might never live the life my mother wanted for me,” Hunter admitted, dropping his head. “And their legacy will die with me.”</p><p>“Don’t think that way,” Izzy chastised. “I know who you are, love. And who you are is more than enough to beat Ward.”</p><p>Hunter nodded. He had to believe Izzy was telling him the truth; the alternative was too horrible to contemplate.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nerves were once again trying to get the best of him, but Hunter refused to succumb.</p><p>The Coulson estate was not nearly as large as Hartbrandt, nor so ornate, but it was homely in a way Hunter doubted the oak behemoth of his forebears would ever be able to replicate. It was more familiar, too, than Hartbrandt was, from his months of meetings with Coulson. His nervousness had nothing to do with the estate, though, and everything to do with who was in it.</p><p>Mr Coulson was a man of many virtues - kind and fair, honest and loyal. Returning to him with barely a hope and a prayer to his name felt like a failure, and Hunter did not intend to compound that failure with the notice he wished to court Coulson’s eldest daughter - which meant he had to be impossibly careful if Bobbi was at home.</p><p>Before Hunter had even gotten all the way up the drive there was someone at the door, waving wildly. Hunter squinted, shielding his eyes against the sun, and realized belatedly the man waving to him was none other than Coulson. The years had changed him, perhaps even more than they’d changed Hunter himself. The man’s chestnut-colored hair had faded to steel-grey, his frame thinned slightly from his broad-shouldered youth. None of it looked bad on him, though; he wore his age like the badge of honor it was.</p><p>“Mr Coulson!” Hunter greeted, swinging off his horse in one fluid motion. “Did you know I was coming?”</p><p>“Daisy mentioned having seen you at church. I figured you would call eventually.” He held out his hand when Hunter was close enough to take it, and Hunter clasped it, grateful for the warm welcome.</p><p>“Aye. I had some business to attend to when I first came to town. I didn’t want to bore you or your family with such matters.”</p><p>“And yet I expect I’ll hear of them anyways,” Coulson said with a smile, leading Hunter into the foyer of the estate. “I hope you won’t mind if we take a detour to my study before you visit with the ladies.”</p><p>Hunter nodded, following Coulson down the familiar path to the study. It was strange, the things his memory held onto; walking down the wide hallways of the estate brought him back to being an awkward teenager just as easily as seeing Bobbi had.</p><p>“I’m assuming you were able to contact Nick?” Coulson asked as he shut the door to the study behind himself, gesturing Hunter into the second chair. </p><p>“I was able to find him, yes. He had a strong recollection of events and was provided an account in writing for me.”</p><p>“You don’t seem pleased.”</p><p>“Oh, no, sir,” Hunter rushed to assure the other man. “It’s not him I’m displeased with.”</p><p>“Someone else, then.” Coulson knotted his fingers together on top of the desk and inclined his head further. As was his manner, he didn’t press for more information, simply waited for Hunter to collect his thoughts enough to express everything that was happening.</p><p>“My parents’ marriage was of import because my father was in line to inherit a title,” Hunter explained, picking his words carefully. He hadn’t told Coulson this before, and he hadn’t pushed then, either. “I was hoping with proof of their marriage and my parentage, I would be able to take that title for my own.”</p><p>“And that didn’t happen.”</p><p>“No, sir,” Hunter sighed, averting his gaze. Coulson had the ability to stare right through him, and it was unnerving. “I wish for the transfer to be civil, if possible. I’m looking into a new approach.” He was hoping, nay, <em>praying</em>, Izzy’s presence, or maybe the family ring, would be enough, even if Izzy herself did not seem convinced.</p><p>“Would it be rude of me to inquire which title you’re in line for?”</p><p>“The Earl of Kent.”</p><p>Coulson blinked once, then twice, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “You’re related to Grant Ward?”</p><p>“He’s my cousin, yes.”</p><p>Coulson settled back in his seat, digesting the information. “I suppose the family does have some good eggs.”</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“You may get further speaking with the younger brother, Thomas. He’s… he’s a respectable man.” Implying Grant was not one, which Hunter had gathered for himself. Still, if Coulson thought of Ward as such, perhaps there were more people than Hunter who had a problem with the earl.</p><p>“Thank you, sir. And - and thank you for your kindness when I first came to Stratton, as well. I hope to be worth it.”</p><p>Coulson’s brow furrowed. “Everyone is worth kindness, Mr Hunter.”</p><p>“I know!” Hunter rushed to correct himself. “I mean only that your kindness was… was beyond what any of us are called to. And I would not be here if not for you.” He finally managed to look Coulson in the eye again, and found the other man was smiling. It was a peculiar sort of smile, one Hunter didn’t recognize. </p><p>“If there’s any way I may be able to assist you in your endeavor, I’d be glad to offer it.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir, but you’ve done quite enough already.” Hunter swallowed. “I have it on good authority Ward may be dangerous, and I don’t wish to put you in harm’s way.” Hunter wanted even less for Coulson’s family to be in harm’s way - especially not Bobbi. Getting her tangled in his quest for the title had been exactly what he’d hoped to avoid when he asked her to wait for him.</p><p>“Dangerous?” Coulson repeated.</p><p>Hunter’s lips thinned. “The circumstances surrounding my father’s death -” which Hunter had explained to Coulson when he first needed help locating Nick Fury “- give me reason to doubt his father’s goodness and his.”</p><p>Coulson nodded. “I trust you’ll be careful.”</p><p>“Aye, sir.” As he had told Izzy, Hunter had no intention of throwing away everything he had worked for by being rash.</p><p>“And what happens if you can’t secure the title?” Coulson asked. His voice was mild, all curiosity and no threat. </p><p>Hunter had been avoiding thinking of the worst-case scenario. “I have money from my mother’s family. Enough to live on at least until I can find more permanent work. I don’t wish to give up, but...”</p><p>Coulson nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Would you like to visit with the girls now?” He was adept at ending uncomfortable conversations, as a gentleman ought to be.</p><p>“Please.” Hunter’s shoulders relaxed at the prospect of finally being out of the study and able to see the Coulson sisters. It was not just Bobbi he had thought of when he was away; Daisy and Jemma were still children the first time he had been in Stratton, but he had been at the Coulson estate often enough to grow fond of them. </p><p>The pair left the study together, and Coulson led them to the sitting room. The rest of the family was already assembled. Jemma had a book open on her lap, Daisy sat at the pianoforte in the corner, and Mrs Coulson was settled on a chaise beside Bobbi, looking over her shoulder at some sort of embroidery. Another woman Hunter didn’t recognize was in the corner, apparently just watching the proceedings.</p><p>Coulson cleared his throat to announce their presence, and Hunter offered a shy smile when four pairs of eyes were suddenly on him. It took every mote of self-control he had not to fix his eyes on Bobbi and never look away again.</p><p>“Mrs Coulson, Miss Coulson, Miss Daisy, Miss Jemma.” Hunter bowed to each of them in turn. Bobbi and Daisy both scrambled to stand so they could curtsy in return, but Jemma seemed rather unimpressed with his appearance and didn’t so much as look up from her book.</p><p>“This is Mrs Hill, Bobbi’s chaperone and a friend of mine. Mrs Hill, Mr Hunter is an old friend of the family’s,” Coulson introduced, sweeping his hand towards the woman in the corner.</p><p>Hunter bowed to her as well. Bobbi’s <em>chaperone</em>. Hunter supposed that meant he was going to be seeing an awful lot of the woman in the future.</p><p>“If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to. I trust the ladies will be able to entertain you?”</p><p>Hunter nodded. He had already taken up too much of Mr Coulson’s time - and besides, the person he really wanted to see would be staying.</p><p>---</p><p>When Hunter stepped into the room, Bobbi had to put her embroidery down. Even when she had curtsied to him she didn’t resume her project. Her hands were shaking too badly, and looking busy wasn’t worth accidentally stabbing herself with a needle. She already hated needles enough without adding another grievance against them. </p><p>Her father excused himself, and her stepmother shortly after, leaving Bobbi alone with Hunter… and Daisy and Jemma and Mrs Hill.</p><p>Mrs Hill took up her stepmother’s previous spot on the chaise, and Hunter sat in the armchair normally reserved for her father. Daisy left her spot at the piano to be closer to the action, while Jemma continued reading as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.</p><p>Daisy pinched her sister on the arm, and Jemma huffed indignantly before shutting her book and turning to their guest.</p><p>“It’s good to see you again, Mr Hunter,” Daisy said earnestly.</p><p>“Again?” Jemma interjected before Hunter could respond.</p><p>“Do you not remember?” Daisy asked, brows furrowing.</p><p>“She was young,” Bobbi said, hoping to curb the argument before it began. Hunter hadn’t come to visit so he could hear her sisters bicker.</p><p>“So was I!”</p><p>“It’s lovely to see you as well, Miss Daisy,” Hunter said, valiantly ignoring the brewing tension between the younger two Coulson sisters. “The years have only made you more beautiful.”</p><p>Daisy muttered something beneath her breath Bobbi couldn’t hear, but whatever it was made Jemma turn to look at her sharply. </p><p>“Mr Hunter, perhaps you have a story to tell about your travels?” Mrs Hill suggested. Bobbi breathed a sigh of relief, thankful there was at least someone else who was intent upon avoiding conflict.</p><p>“Of course!” Hunter clapped his hands together, eyes lighting up, and then launched into a recollection of a time he had visited Deal, on the coast. He began gesticulating wildly as he painted a story of an escaped goat, a forgotten scarf, and several kilograms of seashells, and Bobbi just <em>watched</em>. The lines at the corners of his eyes had smoothed out, and he didn’t look so weary anymore. This was the person she had fallen in love with - a man who was unabashedly in love with the world, and somehow able to make everything turn out alright.</p><p>When he finished his story, Hunter smiled, and Bobbi knew it was only for her. He had dimples. How had she not noticed the dimples before?</p><p>“Did you see anything interesting while you were in Deal?” Mrs Hill asked.</p><p>“Other than the goat?” Hunter cocked his head to the side, obviously not understanding her question.</p><p>“I mean, you were there during the war, were you not?”</p><p>Hunter stiffened. “Yes, I was.” He seemed to be anticipating an argument, and Bobbi wanted nothing more than to comfort him and tell him Mrs Hill wasn’t going to judge him for not marching off to France. </p><p>“I had heard reports of there being a rash of smuggling ships off the coast, bringing wool and food and other provisions to France.” Mrs Hill said, leaning forward conspiratorially. </p><p>
  <em>Clever woman. </em>
</p><p>“I don’t understand what you mean,” Hunter said after a long pause. The muscles in his jaw tightened under his scrub of day-old stubble - it was quite fetching on him - and once again Bobbi’s inclination was to tell him to relax and let him know he was safe with her. </p><p>“There hasn’t been any wool in town recently,” Daisy jumped in. “Was there wool in Deal?”</p><p>“I never made a habit of stopping in fabric shops, so I wouldn’t know,” Hunter answered. “You said there’s been no wool? For how long?”</p><p>“We only noticed it today,” Bobbi said, “but it’s certainly been longer.”</p><p>“And you think it’s smuggling?” Hunter had put the pieces of the puzzle together, though Bobbi had to admit Mrs Hill and Daisy had been less than subtle with their line of questioning. Bobbi felt marginally better knowing her sister had also made the leap in logic from there being no wool to a possible smuggling ring; at least Bobbi wasn’t alone in finding it suspicious.</p><p>“I would never speak ill against anyone, but we know there are people in Stratton who lack certain moral compunctions.” Mrs Hill settled back in her seat, satisfied the conversation had turned in the direction she wished.</p><p>“Such as?” Hunter prompted.</p><p>“The earl certainly has no qualms with sullying a woman’s reputation,” Jemma sniffed.</p><p>Hunter’s eyebrow raised in a silent request for more information, and Bobbi indulged him. “The earl has a female companion, Miss Palamas. She’s more than once stayed the night at his estate, but no offer of marriage has been forthcoming.”</p><p>He nodded thoughtfully. “And do you expect he ever will marry her?”</p><p>“No,” Jemma answered in Bobbi’s stead. “She has no title, and her family has no money so there will be no dowry. He’d be a fool to propose.”</p><p>“Marriage can be for more than money and power,” Hunter answered calmly. Bobbi fought against the flush creeping up her cheeks. She had always known Jemma was a bit too practical for her own good, and Hunter too fantastical for his, but she had never imagined their collision would end like <em>that</em>.</p><p>“As if he’s capable of love,” Daisy snorted. “Everyone says the earl is nice enough, but he’s…”</p><p>“A creep show?” Bobbi suggested. There was more than one reason her mind had immediately jumped to Ward after smuggling had been broached in town.</p><p>“He’s not to my tastes.”</p><p>“Or mine,” Jemma agreed.</p><p>“Or mine,” Bobbi added. The corner of Hunter’s mouth quirked up.</p><p>“Other than being distasteful to women, does he have any flaws?”</p><p>“Innumerable,” Mrs Hill said drily. “None which are polite to discuss.”</p><p>“Ah, so smuggling is within the realm of respectful conversation, but the earl’s personality defects aren’t?” Hunter asked, mirth in his voice.</p><p>“We’re supposed to be setting a good example for Jemma,” Bobbi told him, wishing horribly they were alone so she could roll her eyes like she wanted to. She thought it was rather bizarre that everyone behaved like Jemma hadn’t already seen the awful things her elder sisters did; trying to set a good example was a lost cause at this point.</p><p>“Ah, yes,” Hunter said. “You come out next year, is that right, Miss Jemma?”</p><p>“If Daisy is married by that time, yes.”</p><p>“As I’m sure she will be,” Hunter declared. “Any man would be lucky to have her.”</p><p>“Are you looking to marry Daisy, Mr Hunter?” Jemma asked, utterly innocent despite the way Bobbi choked.</p><p>Hunter’s eyes darted to Bobbi, panicked. Daisy, on the other hand, looked delighted by the question. “I - uh - no, miss, I’m not.”</p><p>“See? We’ve already set a bad example,” Bobbi said. “Mr Hunter, shall I see you out before my sister asks you any more uncouth questions?”</p><p>“If you would,” Hunter said, standing. Bobbi led him out of the sitting room, and luckily for her, Mrs Hill remained behind. Perhaps it wasn’t providence, but pertinacity - Mrs Hill did fancy herself a matchmaker.</p><p>The walk to the door was disappointingly short, and once there Bobbi found herself at a loss for words.</p><p>“Your sister doesn’t know?” Hunter asked quietly, glancing over his shoulder towards the open door to the sitting room.</p><p>“Daisy does. Jemma doesn’t.”</p><p>“Ah.” Hunter cast his gaze downwards, and Bobbi caught her lip between her teeth before reaching for his arm. He was still wearing his coat, but she imagined his skin beneath her fingertips anyways. He wasn’t a gentleman, not exactly, so it wouldn’t be satin-soft like hers, but she imagined it would still be smooth under her touch. One day, she was going to be able to touch him - to hold his hand. She didn’t know when the day would come, but it would, and she would savor it, just as she was savoring this tiny, stolen moment with just the two of them.</p><p>“She was too young to understand,” Bobbi murmured. “And I don’t know how to explain - explain this.” She could barely explain to herself how she had held onto hope for so long, let alone to her younger sister, who asked so many questions and understood so little of affairs of the heart.</p><p>“I know.” Hunter looked up again, eyes piercing into hers. “I don’t expect -”</p><p>“I <em>know</em>,” Bobbi interrupted him. “You’ve always been horrible at expecting things.” He had been even when they were younger; a product of his upbringing, Bobbi supposed.</p><p>“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t mind if you expected a little from me.” Bobbi probably imagined the hitch of Hunter’s breath, the flutter of his eyelashes.</p><p>“Then I expect I’ll see you at the Midsummer Ball?” </p><p>“You will, if you also expect a dance.”</p><p>“What if I expect several dances?” Hunter asked, edging forward.</p><p>“Perhaps you’ll find there’s perks to great expectations.” Bobbi’s fingers tightened briefly on Hunter’s arm before she released him. “Until then.”</p><p>“Until then,” he whispered, turning to the door.</p><p>Bobbi’s heart thumped hard in her chest long after Hunter had descended the steps, mounted his horse, and disappeared over the horizon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She had to be here, somewhere.</p><p>Hunter had spent the past half an hour searching the crowded ballroom for a familiar blonde, but hadn’t found her. Stratton was a small town and it didn’t seem possible she would be able to elude him for long. Bobbi had said she was going to be there, and he trusted her word, but arriving so early had been a mistake when the object of his affections was nowhere to be found.</p><p>Women were looking at him. He had an inkling that some of them wanted him to ask them to dance, but he didn’t want to dance with anyone but Bobbi. Besides, some of the women (if not all of them) would be decidedly less eager when they learned he was <em>just</em> a handsome face, with no title or land to his name. And he wouldn’t blame them, either; they deserved to have a husband who would take care of them, and a chance at a happy life.</p><p>Bobbi deserved that, too, and he would find a way to give it to her. Sadly, Hunter didn’t think the other ladies in the room could be quite so patient.</p><p>A flash of gold caught his eye, and Hunter turned just in time to see Bobbi float into the room with Daisy at her side. She was wearing a frock as blue as the midsummer sky at high noon, her hair serving as the sun to light it up. She looked radiant, and Hunter knew he ought to look away before her brilliance blinded him, but he simply couldn’t. </p><p>Others in the ballroom glanced at her and then away, but Hunter was transfixed. He brushed through the crowd of people, careful not to get too close to any of the young ladies and cause a scandal. There was only one person he wanted to be scandalous with, and she had just spotted him in the crowd.</p><p>“Mr Hunter,” she greeted the moment he was within easy conversational distance.</p><p>“Miss Coulson. May I say, you look…” Hunter searched for a word that would accurately describe both his feelings and her beauty, yet remain appropriate for the company surrounding them. He found none.</p><p>“Thank you,” she answered, even with his sentence unfinished. A pretty pink began to spread across her cheeks, and Hunter sighed softly. He was never not going to be enamored by her.</p><p>“The music hasn’t started yet,” Hunter said, feeling his own cheeks warm at the obviousness of the statement, “but I would quite like if, when it does, you’ll join me for a dance.” Butterflies beat in his belly even though he knew what her answer would be; she’d all but promised him a dance the last time they spoke, and encouraged him to ask for more than one.</p><p>“I would quite like that, as well.” Bobbi shuffled forward a half-step, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder as if to ward off anyone who might see they were a <em>tad</em> too close for politeness. “You look well.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Hunter looked down at his shoes, the only part of his outfit which betrayed his lower status. With Mrs Hartley’s help he’d scrounged together something acceptable, but another pair of shoes that wouldn’t show the wear of the life he led simply wasn’t possible.</p><p>“Is there… is there any place we may talk privately?” Bobbi asked softly.</p><p>“Only the dance floor, I fear.” The benefit of coming early was being able to scope out the estate the ball was being held at. Hunter had tried several doors before reaching the conclusion they would all be locked. It was smart on the part of the estate owners, since one never could know what kind of people would show up to a public dance, but Hunter understood the desperation for a private moment all too well. It had been easier when they were younger and Hunter was not yet eligible for marriage, but even then they’d never been able to steal a kiss - only a few private words secreted between them.</p><p>“Then I suppose we wait for the music,” Bobbi said. Hunter nodded, curiosity itching at him. What did Bobbi want to have a private conversation for? Hopefully nothing awful.</p><p>The minutes before the music struck up were agonizing, but the moment the first notes split the air, Hunter whisked Bobbi into the huge area that had been set aside for dancing. A handful of other couples joined them, and Hunter tried to memorize their faces so he could ask Bobbi about them later. When her hand slid onto his shoulder, though, Hunter forgot there was anyone around them at all.</p><p>Even through the soft fabric of her glove and his tunic he could feel the heat of her hand, and he wondered if she could feel his skin in return. He hoped so.</p><p>“When did you learn how to dance?” Bobbi asked as they began moving through the steps.</p><p>“Here and there,” Hunter answered. He didn’t want to bring up his deceased mother, though he doubted Bobbi would mind. Her own mother had died when she was young, and her father had remarried the new Mrs Coulson with the hopes of having a son. That obviously hadn’t panned out, but the Coulsons, miraculously, seemed bound by love as much as duty.</p><p>“You know I won’t be satisfied with vague answers about where you were or what you’re going to do for long,” Bobbi said lightly. </p><p>“And I aim not to keep you waiting for long, either,” he answered steadily. He hadn’t ever imagined he’d keep a secret from Bobbi for long, but he wanted to keep her safe from Ward’s grasp. Detailing his plan to her would only make her a target. “I want a future with you, Miss Coulson, but one you -”</p><p>“- deserve?” she finished, looking unimpressed. “Tell me, Mr Hunter, when we were children what did you think I deserved?”</p><p>“A house on a hill, a dozen lady’s maids, a closet full of finery,” Hunter rattled off. “Someone to make you laugh and hold you when you could not. Someone you could love.”</p><p>Bobbi looked at him for a second that stretched much longer than it had a right to. “You can give me at least some of those things, can you not?” </p><p>“That depends. Do I make you laugh?”</p><p>“I think you could. You can be rather charming when the situation demands it.” Bobbi’s eyes glittered mischievously, and Hunter’s heart pounded loud in his chest. It was unfair that in all the world, the bluest blue was trapped in the eyes of the woman he was courting.</p><p>“And you’re charming even when the situation doesn’t,” Hunter returned with a small smile. “And you’re rather clever, as well.”</p><p>“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr Hunter.”</p><p>“It seems, Miss Coulson, it’s already gotten me quite far.” Granted, it hadn’t been flattery that had brought them together - just the sort of magnetic feeling the newly come out thought was love. And then they had talked, and talked, and talked. She had her father’s kindness, a sharp tongue that was all her own, and a wit fleeter than a rabbit. Hunter only tried to keep up, and his efforts had been enough for her.</p><p>“And yet we have further still to go,” Bobbi said.</p><p>“Aye,” he agreed. His eyes skipped over the others on the dance floor, making sure none were close enough to hear what he was about to say. “But do you… do you wish for more? From me? I do not want you to be beholden to our promise, either, or the memory of what we might have been, if I had stayed. I know I’m a different man now, and I’m certain you are a different woman, but -”</p><p>“When we were sixteen, it started raining when we were in town,” Bobbi interjected. “And you stood in the middle of the street and closed your eyes and turned you face up to the rain.”</p><p>“I - I don’t remember that.”</p><p>“I do,” Bobbi whispered. “Tell me, Mr Hunter, if it were to rain tomorrow, would you do the same thing?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. It had been too long since he had paused and searched for the joy in life the way he had when he was young and hopeful. </p><p>“You want so many things for me, my love, but did you ever stop to think what I wanted?”</p><p>Hunter looked down, chastised, but could only keep his head bowed for a moment lest he lose the rhythm of the dance. “What do you want?” he asked.</p><p>“I want a husband who finds joy in the rain and in the sun. Whose life is not dictated by the whims of the world, but by what he believes to be just.” Bobbi’s gaze did not waver when she looked at him. “And I am not asking you if you are that man. I am telling you you are, and that if you decide it is enough for you, it will be enough for me.”</p><p>Bobbi had always had a way with words, but never before had Hunter felt so moved by them. She was so confident in him, in everything he was and could be. He wanted to think he didn’t deserve her confidence, but she spoke with such conviction he couldn’t manage to doubt her even in the privacy of his own head.</p><p>“I wish I had something to give you in return. Words, I mean, not things. I… every night I go to bed singing your praises and every morning I wake up with your name on my lips, but when I try to give form to the feelings, I go mute.” Hunter swallowed hard.</p><p>“You’re doing quite well so far,” Bobbi said drily.</p><p>“Perhaps when I know more of you it will be easier,” Hunter suggested. There was so much he had left to learn of Bobbi’s mind and heart and body. Best not to think of her body now, though, surrounded by people as they were. Her lips were already tempting enough without adding fantasies atop.</p><p>“And perhaps when I know more of you I should be able to convince you even more that you do not have to do anything to be enough for me.” The song began to die, and their steps slowed to match the music. Hunter wanted more time - there were a hundred things left to say, questions he hadn’t even begun to ask because he was so caught up in being close to Bobbi. Her hand departed from his shoulder, and his from her waist, leaving them standing awkwardly together.</p><p>“We shouldn’t dance again,” Hunter stated, trying to convince himself as he was stating the fact. Twice they could make proper, given there was enough time between dances, but twice in a row would be asking for gossip.</p><p>“I’ll find you,” Bobbi promised. “Go find Daisy, she’ll dance with you.” And she was a safe, non-threatening choice.</p><p>“She seems occupied,” Hunter commented, nodding across the room to where Bobbi’s sister was standing with a man. He was dreadfully handsome, with dark brown skin and a bright red jacket that marked him as a hero of the war. The man leaned against a cane, so it seemed he wasn’t much for dancing, but Daisy seemed content just to speak with him. Hunter wouldn’t dare interrupt.</p><p>“Interesting,” Bobbi said, walking towards the edge of the dance floor in Daisy’s direction.</p><p>“Do you know him?”</p><p>“No,” Bobbi answered, “that’s why he’s interesting.” A stranger had the added benefit of not being someone Bobbi had turned down in her own years out in society, so Hunter found himself just as intrigued as Bobbi was.</p><p>“I’ll go find out more about him,” Hunter said, resting a gentle hand on Bobbi’s elbow. This didn’t seem like the type of conversation a sister ought to walk in on.</p><p>Bobbi frowned, but didn’t protest. “I’ll find you,” she repeated before changing course and taking herself to a completely different part of the ballroom.</p><p>---</p><p>Daisy was speaking to a man. Naturally, Bobbi knew that would happen now that her sister was out, but it was an entirely different feeling actually seeing Daisy talk to someone. Hunter telling her not to intervene had been prudent, but she still wished to be there, and ensure whoever the man was, he couldn’t hurt her little sister.</p><p>She just had to trust Hunter would play the part for her.</p><p>Luckily for Bobbi, Daisy was not the only person in the ballroom she was friendly with. Bobbi made her rounds, making polite small talk with the ladies she was acquainted with, before finishing her circuit with one Miss Palamas.</p><p>Kara was somewhat of a pariah in Stratton, well-known for warming the bed of the Earl of Kent, but Bobbi saw no reason to be unkind to her. She was more intelligent than she was given credit for, and obviously more courageous than most if she was willing to brave the earl’s bed.</p><p>“The man you were dancing with was at Grant’s house last week,” Kara said in lieu of a greeting.</p><p>Bobbi schooled her face to hide her surprise. What was Hunter doing visiting the earl?</p><p>“Grant wasn’t very happy with him when he left,” Kara continued, “so at least you know he’s probably of the decent sort.”</p><p>“Are many of the men not?” Bobbi asked. She and Kara were friendly, but Bobbi wasn’t privy to many of the details of the other woman’s private life, up to and including why she decided to sully herself with someone who obviously had no intent of marrying her. </p><p>Kara gave Bobbi a withering look. “I know you know his reputation, Miss Coulson. You don’t need to play coy for fear of offending me.”</p><p>“I know that reputations and realities are often incongruous, Miss Palamas. Yourself as an example.” Despite her reputation as a harlot, Kara was sweet in a way that reminded Bobbi of Jemma, and had a fiery streak that reminded her of Daisy. Perhaps Bobbi saw Kara too much as her little sisters to see whatever flaws led her astray.</p><p>A rueful smile took over Kara’s face. “Yes, I suppose. But Grant’s is entirely deserved. I suppose I’m lucky it was your man who saw me and not one of the others. They’re not at all nice.”</p><p>“Mr Hunter is not <em>mine</em>,” Bobbi felt the need to say, even if they had all but agreed to marry each other.</p><p>“As you wish,” Kara said, inclining her head. “He doesn’t look like the kind of men Grant normally brings around, though. Why was he there?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Something to ask him about when they danced again - after she got the information on who Daisy was speaking to, of course.</p><p>“But you don’t think it’s nefarious?”</p><p>“What, are the earls visitors normally nefarious?” Bobbi asked, curious.</p><p>“Of course.” Kara’s brow furrowed. “Or at least, I assume that’s why they only come in the night.”</p><p>“And is there a reason you haven’t reported the behavior to the authorities?”</p><p>They were back to the withering glare again. “A woman giving reports of men entering and leaving another man’s home would hardly constitute legal action, wouldn’t you say?”</p><p>“But you said they were nefarious!”</p><p>“And we’ve already reviewed how little my opinion means to anyone in this town.” Kara spoke surprisingly steadily for someone who was spelling out her own failures in society. “Grant is powerful, Miss Coulson, and I know better than to go against him. So do you, and so should your Mr Hunter.”</p><p><em>Not mine,</em> Bobbi wanted to say, but instead she closed her mouth and nodded. </p><p>Nefarious men coming into Ward’s house later at night… perhaps it was the paranoia or the fancifulness of the situation, but it almost seemed like the smuggling ring Mrs Hill had suggested could be reality. Of course it was equally likely there was something else Ward was doing that was perfectly legal, but still nefarious.</p><p>Bobbi wasn’t prepared to believe he was doing something that was neither illegal nor nefarious - not when even his mistress called into question his moral fortitude.</p><p>Bobbi glanced across the ballroom to where Hunter was now engaged in conversation with Daisy and the stranger. She had told him she would find him, and it probably hadn’t been nearly long enough for it to be proper for them to dance together again, but if Hunter was right and there was nowhere else for them to talk privately, then they needed to be on the dance floor; they had much to discuss.</p>
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